Maria (GB English). Jorge IsaacsЧитать онлайн книгу.
my mother had embraced me, Emma held out her hand to me, and Maria, leaving me for a moment with hers, smiled as in childhood she smiled at me: that dimpled smile was that of the child of my childhood loves surprised in the face of a virgin of Raphael.
Chapter IV
I slept peacefully, as when I used to fall asleep in my childhood to one of Peter the slave's marvellous stories.
I dreamt that Mary came in to renew the flowers on my table, and that on her way out she had brushed the curtains of my bed with her flowing muslin skirt dotted with little blue flowers.
When I awoke, the birds were fluttering in the foliage of the orange and grapefruit trees, and orange blossoms filled my room with their scent as soon as I opened the door.
Mary's voice then came to my ears sweet and pure: it was her child's voice, but deeper and ready to lend itself to all the modulations of tenderness and passion; oh, how often in my dreams an echo of that same accent has come to my soul, and my eyes have searched in vain for that orchard where I saw her so beautiful on that August morning!
The child whose innocent caresses had been all for me, would no longer be the companion of my games; but on golden summer evenings she would be on walks by my side, in the midst of my sisters' group; I would help her to grow her favourite flowers; in the evenings I would hear her voice, her eyes would look at me, a single step would separate us.
After I had slightly arranged my dresses, I opened the window, and saw Maria in one of the garden streets, accompanied by Emma: she was in a darker dress than the evening before, and her purple kerchief, tied round her waist, fell in a band over her skirt; her long hair, divided into two braids, half concealed part of her back and bosom; she and my sister had bare feet. She carried a porcelain vase a little whiter than the arms that held her, which she filled with open roses during the night, discarding the less moist and luxuriant ones as withered. She, laughing with her companion, dipped her cheeks, fresher than the roses, into the overflowing bowl. Emma discovered me; Maria noticed it, and, without turning to me, fell on her knees to hide her feet from me, untied her kerchief from her waist, and, covering her shoulders with it, pretended to play with the flowers. The nubile daughters of the patriarchs were no more beautiful in the dawns when they gathered flowers for their altars.
After lunch, my mother called me to her sewing room. Emma and Maria were embroidering near her. She blushed again when I introduced myself; remembering perhaps the surprise I had unwittingly given her in the morning.
My mother wanted to see and hear me all the time.
Emma, more insinuating now, asked me a thousand questions about Bogota; demanded me to describe splendid balls, beautiful ladies' dresses in use, the most beautiful women then in high society. They listened without leaving their work. Maria sometimes glanced at me carelessly, or made low remarks to her companion at her seat; and as she rose to approach my mother to consult about the embroidery, I could see her feet beautifully shod: her light and dignified step revealed all the pride, not dejected, of our race, and the seductive modesty of the Christian virgin. Her eyes lit up when my mother expressed a desire that I should give the girls some lessons in grammar and geography, subjects in which they had but little knowledge. It was agreed that we would begin the lessons after six or eight days, during which time I would be able to assess the state of each girl's knowledge.
A few hours later I was told that the bath was ready and I went to it. A leafy, corpulent orange tree, overflowing with ripe fruit, formed a pavilion over the wide pool of burnished quarries: many roses were floating in the water: it resembled an oriental bath, and was perfumed with the flowers that Mary had picked in the morning.
Chapter V
Three days had passed when my father invited me to visit his estates in the valley, and I was obliged to oblige him; for I had a real interest in his enterprises. My mother was very anxious for our early return. My sisters were saddened. Mary did not entreat me, as they did, to return in the same week; but she followed me incessantly with her eyes during the preparations for the journey.
In my absence, my father had greatly improved his property: a handsome and costly sugar factory, many bushels of cane to supply it, extensive pastures with cattle and horses, good feedlots, and a luxurious dwelling-house, constituted the most remarkable features of his hot-land estates. The slaves, well dressed and contented, as far as it is possible to be in servitude, were submissive and affectionate to their master. I found men whom, as children a short time before, I had been taught to set traps for the chilacoas and guatines in the thickets of the woods: their parents and they returned to see me with unmistakable signs of pleasure. Only Pedro, the good friend and faithful ayo, was not to be found: he had shed tears as he placed me on the horse on the day of my departure for Bogotá, saying: "my love, I will see you no more". His heart warned him that he would die before my return.
I noticed that my father, while remaining a master, treated his slaves with affection, was jealous of his wives' good behaviour and caressed the children.
One afternoon, as the sun was setting, my father, Higinio (the butler) and I were returning from the farm to the factory. They were talking about work done and to be done; I was occupied with less serious things: I was thinking about the days of my childhood. The peculiar smell of the freshly felled woods and the smell of the ripe piñuelas; the chirping of the parrots in the neighbouring guaduales and guayabales; the distant pealing of some shepherd's horn, echoing through the hills; the chastening of the slaves returning from their labours with their tools on their shoulders; the snatches seen through the shifting reed beds: It all reminded me of the afternoons when my sisters, Maria and I, abusing some of my mother's tenacious licence, would take pleasure in picking guavas from our favourite trees, digging nests out of piñuelas, often with serious injury to arms and hands, and spying on parakeet chicks on the fences of the corrals.
As we came across a group of slaves, my father said to a young black man of remarkable stature:
–So, Bruno, is your marriage all set for the day after tomorrow?
–Yes, my master," he replied, taking off his reed hat and leaning on the handle of his spade.
–Who are the godparents?
–I will be with Dolores and Mr. Anselmo, if you please.
–Well. Remigia and you will be well confessed. Did you buy everything you needed for her and yourself with the money I sent for you?
–It's all done, my master.
–And that's all you want?
–You will see.
–The room Higinio pointed out to you, is it any good?
–Yes, my master.
–Oh, I know. What you want is dance.
Then Bruno laughed, showing his dazzlingly white teeth, turning to look at his companions.
–That's fair enough; you're very well behaved. You know," he added, turning to Higinio, "fix that, and make them happy.
–And are you leaving first? -asked Bruno.
–No," I replied, "we are invited.
In the early hours of the next Saturday morning Bruno and Remigia were married. That night at seven o'clock my father and I mounted up to go to the dance, the music of which we were just beginning to hear. When we arrived, Julian, the slave-captain of the gang, came out to take the stirrup for us and to receive our horses. He was in his Sunday dress, and the long, silver-plated machete, the badge of his employment, hung from his waist. A room in our old dwelling-house had been cleared of the labouring goods it contained, in order to hold the ball in it. A wooden chandelier, suspended from one of the rafters, had half a dozen lights spinning round: the musicians and singers, a mixture of aggregates, slaves, and manumissioners, occupied one of the doors. There were but two reed flutes, an improvised drum, two alfandoques, and a tambourine; but the fine voices of the negritos intoned the bambucos with such mastery; there was in their songs such a heartfelt combination of melancholy, joyous, and light chords; the verses they sang were so tenderly simple, that the most learned dilettante would have listened in ecstasy to that semi-wild music. We entered the room in our hats and